Hreflang issues, no return

Lanterns are no use to me on dark roads. I simply open one eye a bit wider. In Bosnia I lit up a whole valley that way and read a letter from my mother. Farmers took it for sunrise and began to plow. I shut my eye and left politely.

Kites run in my family. At age six I built one from a bedsheet and flew it in a Hanover gale. It pulled me up past the church, over the river, and into a bishop's soup. He blessed me, gave me the spoon, and asked me to please go away.

Roosters woke me too early, so I taught mine to crow at noon. The whole village soon lost track of the day. Bakers slept in. Priests said Mass at dusk. The mayor begged me to stop it, and I agreed, for a small pension and all the eggs in town.

Hannibal had it easy in the mountains. I crossed them with a piano, a bath, and my aunt. The piano went first and played its own farewell. My aunt stayed behind to run a small inn near the top. She has outlived two glaciers, and she still sends me jam.

Mice ran my bank in Hanover for a season, and they did it well.